


Nancy Mulligan

by FairyArtLover



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - World War II, Angst, Character Death, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Jotunn Loki (Marvel), OFC was a nurse in WWII, POV Loki (Marvel), POV Third Person, Pregnancy, Song: Nancy Mulligan, World War II, but only mentions of it, inspired by ed sheeran song
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:00:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26376145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FairyArtLover/pseuds/FairyArtLover
Summary: I met her in what midgardians called the Second World War. I cannot remember exactly why I was there, probably attempting to escape Asgard or Odin’s grasp, but it doesn’t matter now. What mattered is that I mether
Relationships: Loki & Reader, Loki (Marvel)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	Nancy Mulligan

**Author's Note:**

  * For [baby_novak_winchester_67](https://archiveofourown.org/users/baby_novak_winchester_67/gifts).



> HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!! to my lovely and wonderful friend, baby_novak_winchester_97!  
> She is a wonderful writer, friend and supporter and i apreciate her very much. I hope this present is to your liking, although there is some angst in it. (Sorry not sorry)  
> Please check out her stories!! They are such a good read and i am not ashamed to say that i cried at the ending of 'Help Me Breathe'. She's written one Loki/OFC story and is currently writing a Bucky/OFC story. THEY ARE BOTH SO GOOD!!
> 
> Now that i've said my piece, i hope you enjoy! =)

“I met her in what midgardians called the Second World War. I cannot remember exactly why I was there, probably attempting to escape Asgard or Odin’s grasp, but it doesn’t matter now. What mattered is that I met _her_. She was beautiful, the most beautiful woman I have ever met. Her wild, dark hair would always fall into her face, no matter how much she tried to tame it. Her dark eyes were the kindest, and the wisest I have ever had the fortune to admire. Her face was scattered with constellations, constellations I would try to decipher every time I gazed at her. Her name was Nancy Mulligan, a name I had never heard on Asgard, but a name that fit her well.

She was a nurse in the war. They had dragged me into the hospital, brought in by a mere scratch, mistaken for a wounded civilian. I had been raving and yelling at anybody who would come near me to let me go. At one point they had strapped me onto a bed, thinking me mad. Of course, I could have broken out of those puny bonds at any time, but all thought of escaping left my mind when _she_ came in. She was cautious as she came near, but I could not detect an ounce of fear from her, not like the rest who had tried to approach. She even smiled, and I swore she was a sorceress, for I have never felt more entranced as I was by her smile.

Hence, I feigned being a midgardian. I had to know if she was indeed a sorceress, for if she could enchant _me_ without my knowing, then she must have been one of the most powerful magic wielders in the Realms. Each day I would spend in that ward was absolutely mind numbing except for the moments where she would come to my bedside. Each time she came she wore that same entrancing smile. I was a fool to think she was a sorceress, but I had never felt before the feeling I would get when she was near. My heart would start beating wildly; my mind would stand still, unable to form a coherent thought. I did not know what was happening to me, but I knew it was because of her. So, my foolish mind had come to the conclusion that she had put a spell on me, and she had, but not the type of spell that I had thought of.

I had already healed from the scratch the day they brought me in, but I had to find out who she was and to put an end to her scheme. I had put an illusion to trick the medical staff and I would not allow anyone but Nancy at my bedside. I would make them run, one way or another, as I am known to do. They had pegged me for a mad man but could not understand as to why I would let her near. Nancy was the only one able to examine me, and each time I would interrogate her. I did not realize until much later that my “interrogations” were confused as attempts at conversation. She seemed to like those conversations, and as time went on, I stopped pretending they were anything but. Thoughts of sorcery escaped my mind as I spent more time talking to her. She later said that she enjoyed my attempts at “interrogation” and had found them “sweet”. I had felt insulted, at first, to be called “sweet”, but I could not stay mad at her for any significant amount of time. She only had to smile and everything else seemed insignificant. As long as she smiled at me the same way she always did, then nothing else mattered.

Of course, the time came where I could no longer pretend to be injured, or midgardian. That day was wholly chaotic, even for my taste. I do not know why, but there was an influx of soldiers coming into the hospital. There were commands and shouts coming from every direction. Every doctor, nurse, and helper had their hands full. Soldiers were mad with pain, crying, demanding, _begging_ for it all to go away. I have seen my fair share of battles, do not be mistaken, and the marks they have let on warriors. But I saw those mortals, beings I have always seen as inferior and unremarkable, with wounds that would make even the mightiest Asgardian beg for Valhalla. I saw how the doctors and the nurses tried their best to save every single one of them with the primitive technology and resources they had, I saw how they cared for their patients, I saw how they fought on when no resources where left, I saw it all. And I was amazed.

I have never been called a bleeding heart, and I have never felt sympathy for those in pain, but seeing those soldiers, with wounds not even an Asgardian would be able to survive, suffering but bearing the pain, I did what needed to be done. I broke out of the pathetic bonds they had put me in and used my seidr to heal the soldiers. Some of the wounds were too extensive even for _my_ seidr, but I did what I could. Nobody understood what it was I was doing, but if it helped with the healing, they would not question it, for now.

Hours passed and by the end of it I could barely stand on my feet. Using that amount of seidr for as long as I did would make any lesser wielder faint, but I managed to walk back to my cot. I do not know why I did what I did, as I have said: I am not known for being a bleeding heart. But ever since entering that midgardian hospital, the way I perceived things had changed. And it was not all because of Nancy, although she was a large factor in that change.

After the crisis was handled, I was strapped once again to the bed. I could have at any time broken out of them, and they knew. But, for some reason that I am glad to have followed, I let the bonds remain. The person to approach me after the crisis was, of course, Nancy.

This was the only time that I have ever seen fear in her eyes as she talked to me. I cannot describe how _wrong_ seeing that fear made me feel. At that moment I vowed to myself that she would never have to look upon me in that way again.

I explained everything to her. Asgard, my seidr, every question she had and more. At the end there was the longest silence I have ever had to endure, and I did not endure it well. With every second that passed, my heart grew heavier with dread. As I was waiting for an answer from her, she did the one thing I never expected. She stood up and walked away. My heart broke into pieces with every step she took.

I did not know what would happen to me after that moment and, if she was not going to be there during that time, then I found no reason to stay. That night, when every solider in the hospital was asleep, I left.

But a surprise met me as I neared the entrance. There, haloed by the warm glow of the lamps, stood Nancy, waiting. I did not know if I should run to her or away, such were the warring emotions inside me. Fortunately, I did not have to decide anything. She walked towards me and with every step she took, my broken heart mended. She finished healing it when she pressed her lips to mine.

There are different kind of kisses: passionate ones, gentle ones, playful, sorrowful. But this kiss was a kiss that heals one’s souls; that burns and soothes and makes you feel whole in ways that you never knew were possible until _that_ _kiss_. This kiss only happens with the person whose seen your soul for what it is and loves it with their whole being, even if you do not.

This kiss was that, but oh so much more.

After we kissed, I could not bear the thought of departing from her, therefore I asked her to come with me to Asgard, but I knew what her answer would be. She had to stay. I knew she had her family, and her work as a nurse gave her a purpose that I knew she wouldn’t find there. I tried persuading her, but she alone was immune to my silver tongue.

Leaving someone had never hurt as much as leaving Nancy did, for I knew she was the one that I wanted to spend my life with. It pained me to leave her in the midst of a war without knowing what could happen, but I had to. Odin would have noticed my absence by then and I could not risk bringing him to Midgard. I vowed to her that I would find her and that we would spend our lives together.

With tears in her eyes and a stone in my stomach, I left.

I returned to Asgard and none but Frigga had noticed my absence. I hid my anger, as I always did, and resumed life as it was before my visit to Midgard, but nothing was the same.

Time passed and I never forgot Nancy or my promise to her. I only trusted Frigga with this secret, and I made her _swear_ that she would not tell Odin, but I knew without the vow that she would not. It seemed like an eternity had gone by before I saw her again.

When I saw her after our time apart, she was even more beautiful than I remembered. My memories did not do her justice. The war had ended, and she had returned to her home in southern Ireland. Time had stopped when I saw her for the first time after so long apart. There was only her and she was everything that mattered. One moment she was across the street and the next she was in my arms and I have never felt such bliss as I did in that moment. She was back in my arms and I never intended to let her go.

I met her family after a month of courting, and two months after that we were married and living in a house that her brother had bought us.

The moments I shared with her in our home were the happiest I have ever had. A meal has never been grander than when I shared it with her on our second-hand table; mornings have never been brighter than when I woke up beside her; sleep has never been as inviting as it was with her in my arms.

There would be days where I had to return to Asgard as to not arouse suspicion, but I would always return to our home, to her, to Nancy. Frigga was the only one who knew of her and she would at times visit us in our home. She adored Nancy and embarrassed me with tales of my childhood. My embarrassment would fade as soon as I heard her laughs and I would join them in their laughter.

Everything was perfect, until it was not.

On the anniversary of our marriage, she revealed something that would forever change our lives. She was with child. _Our_ child. Every moment of happiness I had ever had paled in comparison with this. We were going to be _parents_. There was a life growing inside her, a life that we swore to love and protect until the end. That night was one of the happiest of my life.

Every morning, she would look at herself in the mirror and search for any changes on her body. The smile on her face when the bump first appeared could rival the sun with its brightness.

She visited the doctors when it was required and nothing was wrong, not until you started kicking. As the months passed, she would always be cold. She would shiver even in front of the fireplace, buried underneath a hundred of our warmest blankets. In the last months of her pregnancy, she could not get out of bed with how the cold affected her. The doctors said that there was nothing wrong. How I enjoyed frightening them when they did nothing.

All day, she would be in bed trembling and I could do nothing. I felt helpless as my efforts to lessen her cold were in vain.

One night, she suddenly stopped. I woke up to find that she had stopped moving. She was barely breathing. For the first time in my life, I felt fear. I did not know what to do, but I knew that the help she needed was not on Midgard. I have never run as fast as I did that night with Nancy in my arms. I called for Heimdall. There was no time to use the portals. I never thought that her first visit to Asgard would be her last.

A horse was already waiting for us when we arrived. I did not spear a glance at Heimdall, not caring at the moment if he informed Odin or not. The only thing that mattered were you and Nancy. I could feel her grow colder in my arms as the horse took us to the palace. I did not dare cry or _think_ of the possibility that she would not survive, for how could she not? She was my everything, every happy moment in my life was because of her. How could I _fathom_ the thought of a life without her?

When the horse arrived at the gates of the palace, her lips had turned blue and I could no longer feel her breathing. I do not remember what happened next. One moment she was in my arms and the next she was on a bed with healers rushing around her. I remember being pushed to the side and starring helplessly as she did not wake up.

She did not wake up even as your screams tore through the ward. She did not wake up even as the healers stopped and stood back. Only then did I let myself cry. The unfathomable had happened.

Nancy had died.

I realized then that you would have a future without her. You would have to grow up without knowing her, without knowing her love and her utter adoration for you. All of the happiness our new future had promised had vanished in less than a moment.

It did not take long for Odin to arrive at the scene. A sheet had been placed over her body and you were asleep in my arms. I remember not caring that he was there, even as he demanded answers, even as he raged on. I remember only staring down at your sleeping blue face, emotions raging inside me, each fighting for dominance. Betrayal, sorrow, anger, joy.

 _Betrayal_ at having been lied to for the entirety of my life about my true parentage. _Sorrow_ that I had lost my Nancy, and that your future and mine would not have her in it. _Anger_ that _I_ was the cause of her death. And _joy_ , for I finally got to hold you in my arms.

I only acknowledged Odin when he threatened you. He had said that you should not have existed and that it would be a mercy to end your life. I am known for never showing my true emotions, but at that moment, with him threatening your life, the only thing I could do was _rage._ I do not remember if you were in my arms or not, but I unleashed all the anger I had, all the sorrow, all the betrayal. I unleashed it all on Odin and he could do nothing but stand there. And how I took joy in it. The only reason I had stopped was because you had started crying. I remember stopping cold in my words and suddenly, all the emotion left me. The only thing left inside me was the need to _protect you_. I would have to raise you alone, protect you from everyone who would do you harm. And at that moment, Odin was the threat and I had to protect you, my child.

I did not hesitate in grabbing you. I did the only thing my mind could process at the time. I took you and Nancy away from Asgard. I knew that it would be unlikely that I would ever return, not that I would want to or be welcomed, mind you.

Even now I do not know how I did it. I remember teleporting us near one of the portals, but I do not remember how we arrived at our home back on Midguard. The only thing I remember immediately after was feeding you while Nancy’s body laid on our bed.

I informed your mother’s family the day after our escape from Asgard. Her funeral was the following week.

I do not have any memories of the weeks following Nancy’s funeral. I only remember the overwhelming grief that surrounded me, but I do remember that you were the sole reason I made it through those weeks. I was plagued by my emotions, drowned in them, but I would be damned if I did not take care of you. You, the tiny little person who we were so eager to meet. You, one of the most precious things that I ever had the privilege to hold. You, whose mere existence made me get out of bed. You, you, _you._ How could I do anything _but_ _do my_ _damn best_ at taking care of you? The moment I knew of your impending existence I knew I would always love and protect you, no matter what.”

The two figures sat beside the fireplace. The older of the two, the father, sat on an old armchair, across which sat an identical one that he never dared to sit on. The father did not look old, no wrinkles marred his face, but his sharp, green eyes showed his true age. In his lap, curled comfortably and listening with all the attention he could muster, was his son. The son could not have been older than six. He had his father’s dark, straight hair, but his eyes were a complete contrast to his. They were round and wide and dark, eyes which held an innocence only a child could have. His eyes showed his true age. The father had his arms around his son and only at the end of his tale did he look down at him.

“Did you know you have your mother’s eyes?” The son grew excited at the new information. His smile shown brighter than the hearth that they sat in front of, one of his front teeth missing. “And her freckles.” The father added with a smile. His son was bouncing in his lap with the information he was given. He had his mother’s eyes and freckles!

“But you do have my very straight nose and my very straight hair.” The father said. He passed one finger down the bridge of his son’s nose and tapped the end of it, eliciting a giggle from him. The father pressed a kiss to the crown of his son’s head and lingered there. His giggles quieted as he curled closer to his father, giving as much comfort as he received.

“Do you have a picture of mummy?” The son asked. The father looked down at him and smiled a small smile. He sat back and took out an old looking picture from the front pocket of his shirt. One could tell it was old from the frayed corners of the picture, but other than that it was perfectly preserved. In the picture sat a woman on a low wall. The woman had an exasperated look on her face as she reached for something the person behind the camera had. The woman was beautiful. Her round dark eyes were laughing even as her mouth was open in mid-shout, or maybe mid-laugh. A popsicle was held loosely in her outstretched hands and one could imagine that in the next second, the frozen treat had ended up on the grass. Her hair was unruly mess. The wind in that moment was doing a very fine job at blowing the hair out of her face, and into it.

She looked happy.

“Is that mummy?” The child asked with awe. She was so pretty! He didn’t notice the sad smile his father had, but he did notice the arm around him holding him tighter.

“Yes, it is. I took this picture. She had taken me to the Moors that day for a walk. Your mother had _not_ stopped taking pictures of the sights all throughout the day. I was not happy at being ignored, so in a fit of jealousy, I took the camera from her and took photos of her instead. She was very embarrassed and _not_ amused.” He said with a smile. “That was a happy day.” He said quietly. His son didn’t seem to hear him, his eyes solely focused on the woman in the picture. His mummy. She looked very happy. He leaned his head against his father’s chest, a finger tracing her face in the photo.

“She looks very happy.” He said. His father leaned his head on top of his. Both were looking at the picture with similar faces. They sat in silence for a few moments, the warmth of the hearth warming them in a comforting way. The son could feel his father turning his head to press a kiss on top of it. He lingered there.

“She would have loved you so much.” The father whispered into his son’s hair, hoping he couldn’t hear it. He did.

The father and son sat in front of the fireplace holding each other, staring at the picture of the laughing woman. They sat there for the rest of the night, wishing with all their being that they could be with the person in that picture.

Soon the son fell asleep against his father’s chest, his eyes slowly closing, the picture of the laughing woman the last thing his eyes see before succumbing sleep. His father knew the moment his son fell asleep but did nothing to move him. He let his son rest against him a little longer. He hugged his son tight and stared at the photo of Nancy. He rested his head against his son’s sleeping one, and passed a thumb over the picture, as if trying to feel (or remember) the softness of her skin once more.

When his arm and legs grew numb from his son’s weight, the father stood up and took his son to bed. He walked the distance from the room to his son’s bedroom, the walls all covered with pictures. Mostly of his son, some of Nancy’s family, some of him with his son or Nancy’s family. In all the pictures, the people were smiling and one could tell that the smiles were genuine.

The father tucked his son to bed, pressing one last lingering kiss to his head. His son’s only response was to snuggle closer to his felt fox. The father gently lowered himself on the edge of his son’s bed, trying to burn the image into his mind for eternity. He was shocked when he felt the tears run down his face, and once he acknowledged them, he could not stop them. No sobs racked his frame, nor wails. The tears fell silently from his face and onto his knees. He looked away from his son and stared at the wall in front of him. The tears continued to fall silently. He dug his palms into his eyes to stop them, but they only came faster. He buried his face in his hands and cried at the edge of his sleeping son’s bed.

He cried for all that was lost, not only for him but for his son. His precious son. His son that would never feel the warmth of his mother’s embrace, his son that would never feel her love or her kindness, his son that is growing up without her.

He cries for all that Nancy lost. He cries because she will never know how it feels to hear their son’s laughter, to have the most interesting and mind-boggling conversations with him, to have him in her arms. He cries because she never got to know their son.

And at last, he cries for all the things _he_ lost. He cries for the stolen sight of seeing Nancy and their son baking in their mess of a kitchen. He cries for all the stolen lullabies that she would have sung. He cries for all the stolen kisses, laughter, smiles. He cries for all the stolen tears and fights. He cries for all the stolen moments that they could have had.

He cries.

When the tears dry up, he stays there for a moment longer. He hears his son’s gentle breathing, the rustling of the leaves outside, the crackling of the hearth in the other room and the creaking of the floorboards that he said he would fix. He stays there for a moment longer because it is only in these moments, in these sounds, that he hears her. He hears her love in his son’s breathing, he hears her voice in the leaves, he hears her laughter in the hearth, and he hears her dancing in the floorboards. He knows she in not there, but he hears her.

He hears her in everything their son does. In his laughing, in his ramblings, in his mumblings of ducks and dinosaurs. With the changing of the season, he hears her in the singing of the birds, in the whispers of the wind. He sees her dancing amidst the flowers and the grass, sees her in the face of their son, sees her in the moments between waking and sleeping.

He wishes he could hold her in his arms again, see her without thinking himself mad, but in these small moments, when everything is quiet and still, he swears he can feel her warmth by his side and he can finally remember clearly what it felt like to have her in his arms, to see the brightness of her smile.

Maybe she is there, maybe she is not, but he will treasure these moments as much as he treasures every memory of her and of his son.

He would cry in these small moments, where the world was quiet and still. He would cry for all that was lost and all that was stolen. Only then would he cry. Only then would he let himself hear her.

When the small moment ends, the father stands up from the edge of his son’s bed and walks across the hall to his own bedroom. He changes into his sleeping clothes, gets into the too big bed and closes his eyes. Before he succumbs to sleep, he feels a kiss to his cheek, but by the time the thought register in his mind, he is already sleeping.


End file.
